


we'll build this love from the ground up

by eponnia



Series: i was made for loving you [5]
Category: BURROUGHS Edgar Rice - Works, Tarzan of the Apes & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Tarzan (2016)
Genre: 1880s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Class Differences, Class Issues, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, POV Female Character, Period-Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Classism, Period-Typical Sexism, Self-Worth Issues, Soulmate Tattoos, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 16:49:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13415484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponnia/pseuds/eponnia
Summary: "I wish to rehearse our wedding vows."





	we'll build this love from the ground up

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "From The Ground Up" by Dan Smyers and Shay Mooney.

* * *

_This life will go by_

_In the blink of an eye_

_But I wouldn't wanna spend it_

_Without you by my side_

* * *

"After spending time in Africa," says Amaryllis Brassington, briskly snapping open her hand-painted fan, "how are you finding England?"

John tenses beside Jane, and she can tell he is scrambling to form a proper response to befit the setting. He does not show his panic on his face; John has never been one to show hesitation in the face of a threat, even one as simple as a question he is not prepared for. But Jane sees his hand curl at his side.

"Things are different here," he says after a moment, and Amaryllis offers a thin smile as his grandfather clears his throat.

"I gathered as much," the dark-haired woman replies. There is a hint of a condescending tone to her voice, and Jane tries not to openly glare. "I must go to my private box," Amaryllis adds, "but might I find Your Lordship after the concert?"

Jane brushes her hand against John's, and only then does he nod. Amaryllis sweeps away in her deep purple gown without so much as a glance at Jane, but the blonde focuses on John. "Well done," Jane says in a low voice.

"Let us go to our box, then," his grandfather suggests, and they follows the older earl through the crowded grand foyer of the concert hall. Jane watches John scan the priceless paintings, crystal chandeliers, and gold detailing on the walls, but she also notices people watching John.

His height is not the only thing that sets him apart. He still walks differently than others, with a long, prowling stride so at odds with the measured steps of those around him, and the crowd parts to let him through. Even the usher standing by the door leading to the Claytons' private box is nervous at the sight of him, but the trio finally reaches the safety of their seats. Jane notices Amaryllis in her distinctive purple watching them across the auditorium with her opera glasses, but the blonde does not say a word to John.

For two hours, they are left undisturbed as the orchestra plays. John seems intrigued by the music, and awkwardly copies the actions of the rest of the room when the audience applauds; Jane, mentally kicking herself for forgetting this lesson beforehand, demonstrates clapping as nonchalantly as she can even as she feels the stares of the entire audience on their box. As is becoming commonplace tonight, most of the room is focused on John, not the orchestra. But the music comes to an end, Jane puts a hand on John's arm. "Expect Lady Brassington to approach you again," she says as they get up from their seats.

Amaryllis, as promised, corners them in the foyer once more. "Glorious music, was it not?"

"Yes," John says honestly, and Amaryllis reaches up to fiddle with the ropes of pearls around her neck as she looks at Jane.

"I do not believe we have had to pleasure of being introduced, my dear," the dark-haired woman says, and Jane has never heard those words of endearment used in such a disparaging tone in her entire life.

"Jane Porter," John's grandfather offers, and the blonde holds out a hand. Amaryllis looks pointedly at the other woman's very out of style wrist-length gloves, but Jane hasn't come to the concert to impress people like her.

"Charmed," Amaryllis replies, fluidly extending her opera glove-clad arm as if she is a dancer. But she only grasps Jane's fingers for the briefest of moments before drawing her hand back. "Why have I not seen such a delightful creature as yourself in social circles before, _Miss_ Porter? I do not believe I know your family."

Jane tries not to openly bristle at Amaryllis' assumption that she is lower class without even asking. "She is visiting from America," John's grandfather says, and Jane doesn't correct him.

"America?" Amaryllis raises an eyebrow, clearly deciding then and there Jane cannot possibly be a dollar princess.

"She is a close friend of the family," the earl continues, thankfully leaving out any information about tutoring, and the dark-haired woman smiles thinly.

"I see." She turns to John, and Jane knows she is being dismissed from Amaryllis' attention. "May I call on you?" the brunette asks.

"Yes," John says, hand curling again.

"My carriage is waiting. Until next time, Your Lordship."

"Lady Brassington," John's grandfather says, but Amaryllis only spares the older man a quick glance for giving his grandson a very direct smile as she sweeps out the door. But John only visibly relaxes when she is out of sight.

* * *

When Amaryllis does arrive at Greystoke manor a few days later, Jane almost doesn't wear gloves at all.

Amaryllis, in her fashionable three quarter length day gloves, seems even more interested in John than at the concert. She smiles and laughs and hangs on his every word, even though the attention clearly makes him uncomfortable. When Amaryllis puts her hand on his arm for a moment, Jane almost wants to remove her own right glove and display his name in gold on her wrist then and there.

But she doesn't, because John is an adult and she needs to let him make his own choices. True, he does not seem to enjoy the company of Amaryllis with her shallow chatter, but it is not as if Jane herself is engaged to him. She has no official claim to John, though her mark might say otherwise. It is well known titled people have no qualms about marrying those who are not their soulmates if their spouse is wealthy or has a title of their own. Most would never wed a soulmate who was not of their station or, heaven forbid, lower class. It simply isn't done, and Jane needs to accept that fact.

She is the help, and nothing more.

But she can't help but notice that Amaryllis doesn't care for the way John speaks as time passes. The dark-haired woman's smile tightens when he uses improper grammar or an odd word, though she has at least the decency not to comment. She does light up, however, when given a tour of the estate, raving about the gardens and the manor, and even is bold enough to bring up John's inheritance once. Amaryllis' motives are clear after one afternoon, but Jane doesn't know what she can do to stop it.

To respect John, she starts to leave them alone when Amaryllis continues to invite herself over for tea. His grandfather is there as a chaperone as society demands, but Jane knows she is intruding on Amaryllis' conquest of John as a husband. And so Jane gives them space, even though she would like nothing more than smack every single one of Amaryllis' simpering looks from the other woman's face. If Amaryllis was genuinely in love with him, Jane might feel differently about her, but the brunette doesn't even seem like she will care to help John with his English if they are married. To be fair, most marriages among the nobility are for the sake of money, not affection, but that doesn't mean Jane has to like it.

But even though her name is in gold on John's wrist and he understands the significance of soulmates after she explained it so long ago, he doesn't send Amaryllis away. As days and weeks stretch on, it almost seems as if she never leaves Greystoke manor. The moment it is appropriate to come calling, she is there, and she stays until it is the polite time to leave. But then Amaryllis convinces him to go to dinner in London with her and her influential parents, his grandfather trailing along as a chaperone.

Jane is not invited.

She can't sit still while they are out. Jane tries to read, but no book in the entire library holds her attention, and she can't even focus on her copious notes of John's progress. Not even John Clayton the first is aware of the extent of how far his grandson has come, but Jane knows that the former wild man needs more individualized attention; he can somewhat get by in society, but he is nowhere near comfortable yet. Another tutor – should Amaryllis even think to hire one after marrying John – might not have the patience to work with an adult in learning things anyone else knows from childhood. Jane's early fears that John would be put in an asylum resurface in full, knowing she herself the only person who can truly help him.

But it is not as Amaryllis would ever dream of hiring her, now would she?

Jane hears a carriage outside the manor in the rain, and her stomach clenches. She steels herself for news of John and Amaryllis' engagement, even as she has another brief flight of fancy of running away with him back to Africa and never returning. She brought him to England because he belongs in this land, no matter the people he ends up with, and she cannot undo it now.

But Amaryllis is not with the Claytons as two men walk back into the grand entrance, and no one calls for champagne or cigars. As Jane curtsies to the earls, John goes straight through the foyer to one of the parlors, and she knows instinctively that he is heading for the gardens.

His grandfather's face is lined. "You may want to follow him," the older man sighs, reaching up to rub his temples, and Jane doesn't hesitate.

The rain isn't as warm as it would be in Africa, but she goes out into it anyway without even a shawl. It takes her a moment to locate John, but she follows him into the tree in which he sits. It isn't easy to climb in a corset and a dress, but nothing will stop her from reaching him. She waits patiently on the branch for him to speak as the rain pours.

"Her father suggested marriage," he finally says, water dappling his skin, and he looks far more at home in this tree than the entire manor. "I said no." He pauses. "Like you taught me."

She tries to ignore the way her heart leaps into her throat.

"They did not seem to care that I already have a soulmate," he adds, and her heartbeat picks up. And then he reaches out, fingers hovering over the sleeve of her dress concealing her mark, and she nods when he looks at her for approval.

This is the first time they have touched this intimately since the day he saved her life from the Mangani ape. He carefully moves back her sleeve just enough to reveal the golden words on her skin, and even when his fingers barely brush her wrist, her breath catches. He pulls back his own sleeve and holds out his arm next to hers, and in the darkness she can barely make out her name on his skin. But there is no denying the color is the same as it was a year and a half before.

His blue gaze locks with hers. "I do not want to marry anyone but you."

Her heart hammers against her ribs as if it is about to fly from her chest. If this is a proposal, it is certainly not a traditional one. Others can say they became engaged under a tree, not sitting in the branches of one. Though he has no ring to offer her, if he is indeed asking her to marry him she couldn't care less – but she _has_ to make sure that is what he is saying. She refuses to willingly trap him in something of this magnitude if he does not know what he is getting into.

"Do you understand what marriage involves?"

He nods. "My grandfather explained it as we drove here."

Her loosening, water-soaked chignon is becoming heavy from the rain, and she takes down her updo to let her wet hair fall around her shoulders. "Did he tell you-"

"I know it all, Jane." His mouth twitches up into a smile. "He was thorough."

She smiles at the thought of the earl awkwardly explaining the intricacies of marriage to his grandson, but as the rain continues, she weaves her fingers through his. "Then I accept." She lets out an airy laugh, almost unable to believe that this is _real_. "I wish nothing more than to marry you, John."

"I have wanted you from the moment we met," he says in a low voice.

"As did I." She tucks her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. "Now that we are engaged," she says after a moment, "I do not believe I have told you what a kiss is."

He tilts his head. "A kiss?"

"Allow me to demonstrate," she says with a smile, leaning forward on the branch, but stops, sober. "If you do not like this, tell me."

She slowly presses her lips to his, and after a moment, he responds. His lips are chapped and she feels ridges of scars on his flesh, but neither deter her. But Jane makes herself pull back to hear his verdict. "Well?"

"I like it very much," he says with a straight face, and she can't help but laugh.

"So do I," she says, kissing him again, and she smiles against his mouth.

But the kiss becomes heated even more quickly than she expected. He runs a hand through her loose hair, grasping a handful of strands, and his grip tighter than a normal gentleman's touch would usually be. But she's not in love with him because he is like everyone else, and she honestly doesn't mind. But then he reaches with his other hand to her waist, and she instantly knows where this could lead.

"John, stop," she gasps, turning her head, and he pulls his hands back.

"What is it?" he asks, voice rough.

"We cannot do this," she explains, pulse racing. "People will be talking about us enough." She normally doesn't care what others think. But for all the different ways they both go against the norm, this is one society will never forgive. She thinks of what her parents would say. "We must wait until after the wedding to be… intimate. Do you understand?"

"I think so."

She smiles. "I think it is time we tell your grandfather the news, do you not?"

* * *

"I cannot quite express how delighted I am to see you."

Jane slips her arm into John's as they walk through the treeless gardens of the Darby's family estate. Her uncle – recently landed in England – is a few steps behind, present for propriety's sake, but Elias doesn't hover nearly as much as Cora.

"The duchess is nice enough," Jane adds, "and of course I am grateful she and her family are allowing me to stay with them until the wedding. But she discusses fashion far too much for my taste. If I hear one more mention of lace, I shall scream."

The corner of John's mouth turns up. "I missed you at the manor. It is too quiet with I and grandfather."

"Grandfather and I." His face falls ever so slightly when she gently makes the correction. "Are you alright?"

"Might we sit down?" he suggests. When she follows him to a bench, Elias pretending to be interested in a rose bush a few yards away, John still does not answer her initial question. They watch robins and sparrows chirping as they flit across the grass before he speaks.

"The birds here are much quieter than the ones in Africa."

They watch one of the sparrows pluck a seed from the grass right underneath a robin's beak. The red-chested bird chirps, indignant, as the other soars away with its prize. John whistles, imitating a more cheerful sound the birds had made earlier, and the robin lands lightly on the hand he extends. It tilts its head as he whistles again, and then the bird flies away in an instant.

"What did you say to it?" she asks as the robin disappears through the clouds.

"That there is food at the next human nest. Birds do not seem to have a sound for the word house." He glances at her. "Grandfather and I set up a feeder in the garden at Greystoke."

 _How anyone can think you are dull is beyond comprehension_ , she thinks. "That was very kind of you."

He flexes his hands instead of replying. His fingers are still curled and his knuckles are still calloused. But with over a year of stretching exercises she had shown him early on, they have begun to straighten. "I came here to ask you something," he begins, and pauses.

"Anything," she promises with all her heart, but he hesitates once more.

"I wish to rehearse our wedding vows." John straightens his fingers again. "Grandfather was saying that we would have to recite certain phrases before a room of people, and…" He pauses. "And I do not wish to sound like a fool who cannot speak, and embarrass you."

"You _can_ speak." She puts a hand on his arm, but he continues to look out across the Darby's garden. “Of course we can practice, but know that not many people – hardly any at all, truly – could learn an entire language in this short of time. You have exceeded my every expectation, and are one of the hardest working people I know."

She gets to her feet, skirts rustling. "We have a meeting with the priest today to discuss the ceremony, and this would be the perfect time to tell him of your concerns. From his sermons, I believe he is a good man, and he will help you. Alongside our own rehearsing, of course."

When John stands, she turns and takes one of his hands in both of hers.

"And I wish for you to know that you could never embarrass me. I would rather marry you than the most well-spoken orator on earth, no matter how many mistakes you might make."

* * *

Their wedding feels like a zoo.

It is her uncle that she barely knows who walks her down the aisle. But as she takes carefully measured steps towards the alter with Elias at her side, the guests watching her do not seem to be simply admiring her white brocade and velvet dress or the orange blossoms woven into her hair. Excluding Cora, the pews are filled to bursting with friends of John's grandfather, whom neither the bride nor groom know well, if at all. But these people do not seem to have arrived because they wish to support the couple; they openly stare as if they are watching vaudeville or an opera. For an instant, Jane swears she hears whispers from the congregation as she joins John to stand before the priest.

It is clear the wedding of the American teacher's daughter and the long-lost Greystoke wildling heir is the event of the year, fodder for Europe to gossip and laugh and speculate about the strangest match in England. But the island can sink into the ocean for all she cares, because she has John's ring on her finger, and for the first time in the past two years, she is completely and utterly happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, the Victorian era. The fact that I can make a tense moment about glove length and have it be completely natural to the time period is honestly hilarious. 
> 
> I know the whole love triangle thing is beyond cliché, but again, it's the nineteenth century. Almost no one, especially nobility, married for love, and it's realistic someone would pursue Tarzan/John for his money and his money alone. Soulmate marks being part of society wouldn't change a thing.


End file.
